


sweetcheeks

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fuckbuddies, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of Derek’s rules for dating fly out the window the minute Stiles Stilinski eyes him one afternoon and asks him, apropos of nothing, “Hey, wanna fuck?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweetcheeks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bon (paintedrecs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedrecs/gifts).



> This pile of ridiculousness is for [paintedlandscape](http://paintedlandscape.tumblr.com) as a belated birthday present, and it's entirely her and [mad-madam-m](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com)'s fault, because IT ALL STARTED from one innocent question when I was talking about possible injuries that would bleed (for a different fic), and they started talking about butts and then it spiraled from there.

Derek Hale, by all accounts, is a practical person. He believes in order, routine. He’s wanted to be a firefighter ever since his family’s home burned down when he was a teenager, and he’s on the right path: taking classes Beacon Hills Fire Academy, and he recently got his EMT certification. It’s good experience, and Derek has a lot of respect for medical professionals, and he’s got everything going for him. He has a set schedule where he does the three days in the ambulance, has a day of rest, then attends his weekly classes.

He has his Friday pub nights with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, Thursday workouts with Scott, and once in awhile, at his friends’ insistence, tries to date someone.

Derek’s rules of dating are simple: if he is attracted to someone, he’ll ask them out to dinner, they’ll have a conversation about their lives and passions and if Derek continues to have an interest, they’ll make more plans for more dates. If it progresses to a relationship, Derek can promise one night a week with his schedule. That’s a lot, considering how much he works and how much studying he has to do, and it also usually means Derek’s dating life consists of people who are interested in him primarily for sex who back out once Derek lays out exactly how much time he has and that he’s not interested in hookups or purely casual physical relationships.

All of Derek’s rules fly out the window the minute Stiles Stilinski eyes him one afternoon and asks him, apropos of nothing, “Hey, wanna fuck?”

Stiles is Scott’s best friend and also roommate, and Derek thinks he might be in love with him, if not for the fact that on paper, Stiles should probably the worst possible match for him (Derek once gave himself a personality test to find the most apt person to date). He’s messy, unpredictable, spontaneous, everything that Derek isn’t, everything that Derek shouldn’t want.

Stiles is almost always at Scott’s apartment when Derek and Scott get back from their weekly workout, always there making innuendos and jokes while Scott makes their protein shakes, and somehow always looks beautiful, sprawled out on the couch in well-fitted t-shirts and that irresistible smirk of his.

He’s training at the Beacon Hills Police Academy and wants to make detective, and Derek can see it already; he’s going to be brilliant.

How Derek got into this fuckbuddy mess all boils down to Stiles being _Stiles._

Derek had gotten back from a workout with Scott and for Scott’s med school scheduling reasons, they had planned for a Friday instead of Thursday, and Derek was going to meet everyone at the bar, since it was closer. Scott offered up his shower, and Derek had just finished rinsing off his workout sweat. He hadn’t dressed yet; towel still around his hips, and had opened the bathroom door to let the steam out. He was thinking about shaving his beard when Stiles ambled up to the open bathroom door and changed his life forever with one question.

“Oh God, yes,” Derek said, and Stiles had stepped forward with a wicked grin, kissed him and yanked the towel away, and that was that. A few days later Stiles showed up at Derek’s place following a few cheeky texts, and then after that Derek was at his place and now it was a regular thing.

Derek’s heart breaks every time he has to leave. Every time they have sex it’s the best sex of Derek’s life— Stiles is infuriatingly gorgeous, a talented and attentive lover, and a fucking hellcat in bed. Derek’s never come so much in his entire life. The past few weeks have been both amazing and heartbreaking, because Derek knows he’s falling more and more in love with Stiles and he can’t do anything about it.

See, Stiles _does_ do casual; in the time Derek’s known him, he’s dated a few people on and off. but he’s constantly boasting about hooking up with someone. Derek’s heard him tell Scott more than once that “the single life is for me, dude, forever,” and Derek knows relationships aren’t what Stiles wants.

“Good game, man,” Stiles says sleepily, a happy sated smile on his face, and he slaps Derek’s ass.

“I, ah, you too,” Derek says, standing there awkwardly in Stiles’ bedroom and holding his boxer shorts in front of him like a shield.

Stiles is laid out naked in his bed, completely debauched. Derek blushes, eyeing the trail of hickies he left on Stiles’ neck and collarbone, Stiles’ kiss-swollen lips, the way his eyes are glazed over, his hair scattered in all directions. He’s splayed out, legs still spread in the same way Derek was fucking him just a few moments ago, like he can’t be bothered to move, or he’s ready for a second round.

There’s a bite mark on his inner thigh that Derek wants to kiss.

Stiles’ eyes close, and it’s clear that it’s a dismissal. Derek wants nothing more than to climb back into the bed and curl up with Stiles, fall asleep with him, and the next morning he can make Stiles pancakes and they can argue about Marvel and DC again.

Instead, he throws the used condoms away, gets dressed, and goes home.

 

* * *

 

Derek’s just gotten off a long shift in the ambulance; he’s been on his feet for too long today, and he’s tired and hungry and can’t really think straight. He’s on his way back to his apartment when his phone buzzes, and at the stoplight Derek spots the texts:

**_From Stiles Stilinski, 9:07 PM: come over im so fuckin horny_ **

**_From Stiles Stilinski, 9:23 PM: realized u were prob at work, its cool, i managed w out you_ **

**_From Stiles Stilinski, 9:24 PM: <IMG00284.jpg>_ **

**_From Stiles Stilinski, 9:25 PM: <IMG00285.jpg>_ **

Derek curses, tossing his phone in the passenger seat and now suddenly feels very awake. He turns right, heading for Stiles’ apartment, and pulls into the parking lot to read the rest of the texts. There are a two suggestive photos of Stiles, one of him smirking at the camera, shirtless (or very likely naked) and one of his come-splattered chest. At least it wasn’t a picture of his ass— Derek had walked into a wall when he got those last week.

He reads the rests of the texts, heart pounding.

**_From Stiles Stilinski, 11:23 PM: you’re just getting off work right? lets go to IHOP_ **

Derek heads upstairs and knocks. Scott answers the door and grins at him. “Have fun on your date, dude,” he says cheerfully.

“It’s not a date,” Derek says, looking at his feet. They do this, sometimes, hang out without having sex. It’s… a friend thing. Probably.

“Mmhm,” Scott says.

Stiles appears from his bedroom, glancing at Derek awkwardly standing in the living room, and then eyes Scott suspiciously. “What did you say to him? You know he’s just getting off work, all tired and hungry and shit! Please tell me you guys aren’t adding more crunches to your workout routine, I can’t handle his abs as-is.”

Scott laughs and waves them off before he disappears into his room.

“Whatever, let’s go, you must be starving,” Stiles says. “Why are you even driving? Did you do two shifts today? You know driving tired is the worst, dude.”

“I know,” Derek says, and he lets Stiles manhandle him to his Jeep.

IHOP is bright against the velvety softness of the night, and Stiles orders for them. Derek barely remembers the conversation, just kind of fondly watches Stiles babble about anything and everything, the other students in the police academy, how his pet plant died, Scott’s new haircut, the box of condoms Stiles just got from Costco. .

Derek feels like a human being again when he finishes his meal. He looks down at his empty plate and quirks an eyebrow.

“What? Did you forget to put your favorite boysenberry syrup again? They put them at all the tables, you know, you don’t have to ask for it.”

“You ordered this,” Derek says dumbly. He’d eaten the banana pancakes on autopilot, and the over-medium eggs and hashbrowns and sausage, not bacon.

“It’s what you always get?” Stiles laughs. “Come on, let’s go. I finally got Netflix back and I know you love that Great British Bake Off shit.”

Derek follows Stiles to the counter in a daze; Stiles pays for their meal and ushers them to the car again. He’s talking about the latest Batman movie, and Derek just nods and listens, not sure what to think. Was this a date? Could it have been? No, no, he’s reading too much into it. Just because he and Stiles hang out sometimes and Stiles remembers what he likes with his pancakes doesn’t mean it’s anything.

“Oh, hang on a minute, let me throw all this stuff in the back. Can’t believe you just Sasquatched over this bag like a nerd.” Stiles grabs a backpack from the passenger seat floor and tosses it in the back, but the zipper is open and the contents come flying out; pens and pencils and binders and books, a Police Academy training manual.

“Aw, shit.” Stiles starts haphazardly shoving things into the bag and trying to clear the space.

“It’s cool, I got it,” Derek says.

It’s pretty dark, but he’s sure he’s gotten the rest of it so he sits down, and then suddenly there’s a white hot pain in his left butt cheek. Derek won’t admit that he shrieks, but he shrieks.

“Holy shit! Derek! Are you okay? Fuck, is that… oh, fuck, you sat on a pencil. It must have gotten wedged in the seat cushions, fuck, I’m so sorry, Derek—”

Derek grits his teeth and gets back out of the car, wincing as he stands in the parking lot.

“It’s bleeding a lot, dude,” Stiles says, his brow furrowed in worry. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital.”

“It’s fine, just—” Derek knows what to do. He’s trained for this, he’s handled worse than this, but he can’t think right now— he’s the patient, right, first stop the bleeding, then—

Stiles reaches for him. “Should I take it out? You want me to walk me through the steps? I have a first aid kit, we can go home and—”

“Don’t take it out!” Derek says. He can feel the blood trickle down the back of his leg, and he should… he needs to not be standing.

“Okay, we’re going,” Stiles says. “You can lie down in the backseat, I um, here, put pressure on it?”

They get Derek lying facedown in the backseat of the Jeep, and Stiles drives them to Beacon Memorial as he talks nonstop.

It’s relaxing, somehow. The cadence of Stiles’ voice, the way he wants to laugh when Stiles says, “It’s your left butt cheek, not your right, so there’s a plus because I always thought the right was prettier, you know…”

The ER isn’t that busy, and they get Derek stabilized immediately.

The doctor is a cheerful man Derek recognizes from some of his EMT classes; a Ken Yukimura, who eyes Derek and Stiles with amusement. He finishes dressing the wound while Derek lays on his stomach. Stiles is holding his hand, squeezing it.

“You’re quite lucky, Derek, a muscle tear would have been a much longer recovery time. The wound is pretty deep but you should be fine.”

“Thanks, Doctor Yukimura,” Derek says, trying not to feel embarrassed.

“It’s not luck, it’s Derek’s dedication to squats,” Stiles says proudly, patting the curve of Derek’s ass. The non-wounded cheek. “There’s just a lot of padding,” he says appreciatively.

Derek buries his face in the face-hole of the table. He can still see Stiles’ feet, though, practically bouncing in his red Chucks.

Yukimura just laughs.

“Tell me, doctor,” Stiles says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Is there going to be scarring? A permanent dimple at the wound site? I mean, I was pretty attached to the way his ass looked before, but I could learn to love some sexy battle scars.”

“How did this happen again?” Yukimura asks.

“I sat on a pencil,” Derek says, wanting to disappear.

“You are completely missing out on the sexy battle scars story opportunity,” Stiles muses. “Actually, doctor, my boyfriend is a ridiculously brave EMT and was rescuing a poor child who had tumbled into a ravine, and then the thorns…”

Derek completely misses the entirety of the story because he’s too fixated on the word _boyfriend._ He’s still mulling it over when he’s all bandaged up and they get checked out.

Stiles is opening the box with the inflatable donut thing Derek has to sit on to not damage his butt, and arranging it on his seat, carefully checking the area for any more wayward pencils.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning suddenly. “You’re making a face.”

“I, ah…” Derek doesn’t know what to say. “You called me your boyfriend?”

“Dude, we’ve been dating for like two months.” Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Do you… not want to be my boyfriend?”

“But you—you don’t date, though,” Derek says halfheartedly.

“I haven’t dated anyone seriously in a long time, yeah,” Stiles says. “You’re the one who’s out of my league, though, I can’t believe I locked this down.” He grins at Derek. “Dude, you do know that I’ve been telling everyone how lucky I am to be dating you since the minute we started going out? Like, the barista at Starbucks is always telling me to shut up about my perfect boyfriend.”

“But—” Derek is feeling overwhelmed with emotions. Exhilaration and joy and surprise and then _guilt,_ because if Stiles thought they were dating then Derek’s been a really shitty boyfriend.

Stiles is starting to look worried now, and Derek realizes he hasn’t answered his question. He’ll have all the time in the world later to talk it over with Stiles, and they can laugh about how Derek thought it was just about the sex. “Yes,” Derek says, and then he says it again. “Yes, you’re the perfect boyfriend.”

Stiles beams at him. “I dunno man, I did get you stabbed in the butt. In a non-sexy way, too. Oh no, we forgot to ask the doctor when we can do the sexy kind—”

Derek buries his face in his hands. “Stiles. Let’s go.”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks. Hehe, cheeks.” Stiles gets in the driver’s seat. “So do you want me to take you home or do you wanna come over still? I know we usually bang but because of the…”

“Can I stay the night?” Derek asks.

Stiles’ eyes light up. “Of course.”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles softly. “A Great British Bake Off marathon and sleep sounds wonderful.”

Stiles kisses him back soundly and leans back to start the car. He turns to smirk at Derek. “You know, your ass might be off limits tonight but mine isn’t.”

Derek laughs and reaches over and squeezes Stiles’ hand. “How about we relax and just cuddle tonight? I think we’ll have plenty of time for sex in the future.”

All the time in the world, Derek thinks, as Stiles interlaces their fingers together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [tumblr](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/bleep0bleep) if you wanna say hi.
> 
> You should totally read [M's fic](https://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/149535366230/a-belated-birthday-gift-for-paintedrecs) which also involves a butt incident.


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